The Truth Of It All
by jankajow
Summary: Mormor {Post-Reichenbach} James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran have been involved with criminal organisations for years now, and they have formed a rather odd bond along the way. However; Jim's attention has now turned to defeating his arch-rival, Sherlock Holmes, and he is adamant that emotional attachments will not ruin the years of planning he has put into 'burning' him.
1. Chapter 1: The Lonely Horsemen

-_Hello everybody ^-^ Welcome to the first chapter of "The Truth Of It All". I hope you enjoy it, and please leave a review! I shall update as soon as possible, I just want to see if people are interested in it first, so let me know if you are (or if you're not, as the case may be)_-

James Moriarty stroked the icy dents in the stained glass windows of the church, smirking as he did so. The way the glass withheld his strength was almost pitiful – it felt as though one small push would cause it to shatter, even though he doubted it. It was playing dead. It was playing the necessary victim. The sufferer that needed to pretend it was weaker than it actually was in order to stop those who inflict it damage from using the force required to truly break it. Instead of allowing you to destroy it, the glass gave you a false sense of security, a sense of domination that was never truly real. Unless of course, you had the wits to shatter it.

Jim believed this window to be much like Sherlock Holmes. He believed that Mr Holmes was planning to perform some kind of "double-bluff" in a feeble attempt to outwit him. Obviously this was never going to work, and even if, in some parallel universe, it had succeeded, then it would not have provided Sherlock with nearly enough satisfaction that he craved from out-smarting such a noble opponent.

And that was exactly how he and the detective were so similar. They both craved the distraction and acknowledgement that came with their opposing roles in human society. They were the two great predators of the world competing over the same food source. Eventually one of them would die out. Of course that would always be Sherlock, the weaker, lesser opponent.

In recent weeks Sherlock had become merely an obstacle to the consulting criminal. He was just an annoying little mortal man who needed to be put out of his misery. It was a pity, really. Sherlock Holmes just wouldn't die.

Although Jim had expected Mr Holmes to pull off a more impressive illusion to fake his death, the detective had still managed it – however poorly performed and disappointing it turned out to be. But, then again, life was full of disappointments for Jim Moriarty.

Everything was just so ordinary in this universe. Every opposing force was far weaker than him, and even the greatest of human accomplishments couldn't out-do his vast intellect. Not even Sherlock Holmes. _Let alone_ Mycroft.

Whilst it was common belief that Mycroft was the more intellectually gifted of the 'Holmes Boys' he was far too lazy and inefficient to put all that brain-power to much use, according to Moriarty.

'The world works for those who work and those who seek to dismantle that work,' Jim would often recite to himself when his claims were challenged. Mycroft definitely did not put himself to work nearly as often as Sherlock, so therefore posed less of a threat. That is, if you consider Sherlock much of a threat at all to James Moriarty.

Jim chuckled softly under his breath, recounting the endless list of battles Sherlock had lost in their bitter war. Irene Adler; that was his first major slip up – the most pitiful thing being that Sherlock believed the 'dominatrix' right until the end. He even assisted in helping her escape execution. Oh how Jim loved the thought of them together. Irene had been and would continue to be an extremely valuable pressure point for Moriarty to keep hold of.

The fall. That was Sherlock's second mistake. Of course it was inevitable. Jim had meticulously planned and plotted his every move to ensure it took place - but it still provoked the tiniest bit of disappointment in the criminal, who had rather hoped Mr Holmes would find some ingenious way of outdoing him. Sherlock still thought he'd won, though. Jim would soon put an end to that.

And finally; Magnussen. Oh yes. Sherlock had really got himself into deep trouble with that one. Murder does cause the most spectacular aftermaths – especially when it is carried out by someone so familiar to the public eye. Jim was very much looking forward to how Sherlock would cope with this one.

"Not quite the little angel now, are we?" Jim muttered into the stone walls of the church, "Maybe I should have believed you."

The cold wind reached out towards Moriarty, tightening its' grip on his icy skin as he addressed the detective through the wintry atmosphere of the churchyard.

"You're not one of them," he hissed, curling his tongue inside his mouth, forming a snake-like fork held together by his two front teeth.

Slowly but surely, Moriarty removed his hand from the glass and slid it into his pocket, turning away from the building as he did so.

There was no-one around at this time of night, so Jim had the churchyard to himself. He sung quietly as he walked out towards the exit, breaking a layer of frost on the grass as he went.

It only took a moment after he had closed the gate for a black jaguar to roll into position in front of him. Obviously he ruled the roost around here. He couldn't afford to go wondering off unattended and without backup.

"Sir," a voice called from the car as the passenger side window rolled down.

Moriarty nodded, tilting his head slightly towards the door before grabbing the handle and opening it with one swift motion, "Sebastian."

The blonde-haired man turned his head towards Jim, grimacing as the shorter man slumped into the seat beside him.

"Where to?" Sebastian sighed, averting his gaze away from the criminal.

"The Office," Jim spat, annoyed by Sebastian's attitude. He didn't need this. Moran was his employee; not his friend. Everything had to be neutral between them. That's what Jim liked to think, anyway.

Sebastian nodded briefly, clutching the key in front of him to start the engine. The car jerked forwards as he turned the key, earning him a disapproving glance from Jim.

"Try not to kill anyone on the way there, Tiger. You know what it does for the traffic," he teased.

"Yes, boss," Sebastian responded, mildly amused by the childish pout Jim was giving him, but still maintained an empty, disappointed, expression.

"Oh _please_, Seb," Jim chuckled, "Lighten up."

"Mhm."

"For God's sake," Jim grumbled, rolling his eyes, "What did _I_ do?"

"Nothing."

"I could have you killed, Tiger."

"By who?" Sebastian chuckled, turning onto a main road.

"I have other snipers. You wouldn't last five minutes."

"Not if I kill them first."

"Well," Jim muttered, a smile beginning to form at his lips, "I suppose you'll have the upper hand."

"As always," Sebastian replied, turning to wink at his boss whilst slowing before a set of pedestrian lights.

For a moment Jim didn't respond, he just looked off into the distance and watched the sun rise above skyscrapers and apartment blocks. He didn't really know what to say. Sebastian and he had, what you might call, a unique relationship. On the one hand Sebastian was his employee. In fact, an employee is the only thing Jim would ever admit that Moran was – but something inside of him knew otherwise. And that wink said it all.

Confused by James' sudden silence, Sebastian frowned, flicking the signals on in an attempt to break the ice.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Jim began to imagine a clock stuck on a second, going back and forth from one line on the face to another. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Suddenly the noise stopped and the car swerved to the right, down a slightly quieter road.

"That noise drives me insane," Jim mumbled angrily, a sharp edge entering his voice.

"There is a law against not signalling."

"Laws," he laughed, slightly louder than what was really necessary given the circumstances, "Never stopped you before."

The rest of the car ride was uneventful, and the two men barely exchanged glances other than the occasional outburst of murderous intent that would wash over Jim whenever a car pulled over in front of them or stopped at an amber light when there was clearly enough time for it to continue over to the other side of the crossroad. Those outbursts would normally end in a crack on the wind mirror, but it was nothing Seb couldn't fix later.

When the journey was finally over, Sebastian pulled into a large garage at the bottom of a sleek-looking set of apartments and unlocked the doors.

"Eugh, why do you even bother locking them?" Jim retorted from the passenger seat.

Sebastian ignored the remark and proceeded to open the door and step out onto the driveway.

"Aren't you going to follow me, your highness?" he called back at the car. No response.

Jim muttered something under his breath and slowly grasped the door handle from the inside, opening it inch by inch whilst clutching at his stomach. He suffered occasional bouts of motion sickness, though he didn't like to admit it.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows as he watched the criminal remove himself from the vehicle.

"Stop gawking at me, Sebastian," Jim spat, patting down the creases from his jacket, "Now go inside."

"If you say so, boss," Seb chimed, turning on his heel towards a large metal door, hidden behind a few over grown plant pots. As he pushed the plants aside Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh, which was met with a snigger from Jim. Once again he ignored his employer, and proceeded to retrieve a silver key out of his jacket, and was about to insert it into the keyhole when he felt Jim's breath tickle the back of his neck.

"You do realise, Tiger, that you can't keep secrets from me. You'll have to tell me that little peeve of yours some time."


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome To The Office

-_Hey there, I'm here with another update (it was messing around with me for a bit, but I got here). I'm going to try to do I chapter a day from now on, so that should be fun ^-^_-

It had been a while since Jim had seen the flat, and he wasn't quite sure what to expect. As Sebastian led the way to the escalator he traced his fingers along an unfamiliar crack that had appeared in the lobby wall.

"You'd better fix that," he sighed, removing his hands from the wall and brushing them together.

"Sure," Sebastian responded, rummaging through his pockets for key card that operated the lift.

Jim watched him fumbling around with amusement. He had missed this. It was a pity, really, that he hadn't come back sooner to see his little tiger. Of course, Sebby ought to have been happy to see his return; but he seemed to be a little too melancholy for Jim's liking.

After a short while Sebastian produced the card and swiped it through a barcode reader. The machine then spent a moment analysing the key before asking for an identity check. Sebastian rolled his eyes and stepped towards the elevator, pressing his hand onto the sensor whilst Jim waited behind him, twiddling his thumbs impatiently.

"Access granted; Moran, Sebastian," a mechanical voice echoed around the room, followed by the whir of machinery and finally, the opening of doors.

"Eight seconds. It's getting slow," Jim mumbled, irritably, "You should have updated it."

"Well," Sebastian started, spinning on his heel to face the villain, before sighing and letting out a slightly exasperated, "Never mind, boss."

Jim stared at the sniper intently, walking around him into the lift, assessing his actions and clearly making some sort of deduction about his current state, "You've changed, Moran."

"What did you expect," Seb replied, getting into the elevator after him, "It has been two years."

"I didn't think you'd mind. I thought you wanted a holiday."

There was a moment of silence and Sebastian took in a deep breath before yelling at the top of his voice, "GOD DAMMIT JIM!"

Jim closed his eyes, not daring to look back at his _pet_. He could really see why the name Tiger had stuck. He was almost proud of his employee – but at the same time confused. He needed to figure out why he was being such a nuisance so that they could both get back to work.

"You don't get it do you. You have no idea," Sebastian finally muttered as the elevator drew to a halt.

Jim's eyes lit up with rage and all of a sudden Sebastian had found himself pinned to the wall of the lift, face to face with his boss.

"I am the world's only consulting criminal, Moran," he spat, drilling into the taller man with a psychotic stare, "I dare say that I could have you murdered as soon as you exit this building. Never. Say. That. AGAIN."

Sebastian swallowed hard as Jim pressed him against the metal panelling – it was taking every ounce of respect he had to resist the temptation to push his boss to the ground (after all he was far stronger than him). Fortunately the event lasted a few seconds before the doors slid open and Jim released his grip, letting Sebastian adjust his shirt and follow a few metres behind him. After that outburst Sebastian made a quiet resolution to never raise his voice to Jim when he was within grabbing distance.

The penthouse apartment in which Sebastian and Jim once shared filled the entirety of the top floor of the tower block; so it wasn't really much of a walk before the two of them arrived at the doorstep.

The first thing that struck Jim was the unpainted door frame that had remained just as he had left it. It was odd; he had expected Sebastian to have moved on a little since he 'died', but things appeared to have stayed exactly the same. It was as if time had stood still. Jim didn't understand. And Jim Moriarty didn't like not understanding.

After reaching the entrance Jim stepped aside, letting Sebastian unlock the door. Wordlessly he turned the key and the door swung open.

The walls were painted a plain white colour and everything was gone. The corridor was empty and the living room contained only a small sofa and a fold-out table, which was covered with the remains of an Indian takeaway, probably from the night before. It was half eaten. Possibly because he had left it to collect Jim, or maybe he didn't want it. Jim hoped it was the latter. But the proximity of his phone to the food and the unorganised state everything was in suggested otherwise.

Silently Sebastian walked over to the sofa and slumped back in it, staring at the wall in front of him.

"I'd have thought you would have at least got some new furniture," Jim teased, desperately trying to lighten the mood.

"I did."

"Well. I suppose you do have somewhere to sit, although I did expect something a little more extravagant."

"You see, Jim?" Sebastian growled, turning to the smaller man, who was still hovering in the corridor.

"What? I do have decent visual capabilities."

"No. You see what you've done to me."

The consulting criminal froze for a moment, pursing his lips before moving towards the fold out table, "You enjoyed your meal last night?"

Sebastian laughed, he couldn't help it, "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"I have been informed."

"You're an absolute dick."

"I know," Jim whispered, sinking into the seat beside his tiger, "And I'm sorry."

Sebastian stared into the pale man's black eyes and for a moment, swore he saw a hint of sincerity. He had missed the criminal, and couldn't really stay mad at him for long, "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I bet you didn't, Tiger."

"Why do you even call me that?"

"It suits you."

The night drew nearer and the two men talked – not about much, though. There wasn't much to say. Sebastian had been spending most of his time at home; although he had suspected that Jim may have faked his death, a part of him was always grieving.

"So you didn't just 'carry on' with life?" Jim finally asked him.

"How could I?"

"John Watson managed to."

"Well," Sebastian began, smiling faintly, "John Watson is not a fugitive."

"Not yet."

"What?"

"We have to entertain the possibility that one day something might… happen."

"What are you up to, Jim?" Sebastian questioned, handing his boss a packet of gum.

Taking the packet, Jim announced, "I have a plan, Tiger."

"That involves criminalising Dr Watson?"

"Not necessarily," he continued, chewing slowly in between words, "I have a few different options. In all fairness, I was joking about the fugitive thing."

"I should hope so," Sebastian chuckled, popping another piece of gum into his open mouth.

"Of course these plans do require your assistance."

"Of course," Moran repeated, smiling to himself.

"But those talks are for another day," Jim concluded, rising from the sofa, "Get some rest. I assume my room is where I left it?"

"Of course."

And with that the criminal sauntered out of the living room, back down the corridor and opened a door on the right which led into a dimly lit bedroom with a bundle of maps lying on the floor, spread out just as they were those twenty four months ago, when he left. Jim sighed, rolling up a few of them to make a passage to his bed before he stripped and slid under the covers, staring up at the darkened ceiling until sleep finally overcame him.


End file.
